


Warrior of Love

by rosamynal



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ambiguous Lover, Claws, Edging, Orgasm Denial, Other, POV Second Person, Secret Relationship, Sinful Ratman, Storytime, Teasing, Voice Kink, smutception
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:49:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21909985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosamynal/pseuds/rosamynal
Summary: A book in the Exarch's private collection piques your interest and finds its way into your bag and ultimately into Emet-Selch's hands.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Reader, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 23
Kudos: 117





	Warrior of Love

**Author's Note:**

> For the [ Discord,](https://discord.gg/EdYa4x9) without which, this would not exist.

You hurry out of the Dossal Gate and hang a left. Once your feet touch the grass at the bottom of the stairs you launch into a sprint that carries you past the markets and towards the entrance of the Pendants. You wave at the Master of Suites as you dart past him and up the stairs to your room. The door slams shut before you lean against it. You hold your breath to listen for any sign that someone had followed you from the tower. 

Nothing.

A relieved sigh escapes your lips when you realize your theft has gone unnoticed. Fingers reach into your bag to pull out a well-worn book. Its spine was cracked in multiple places while the soft cover refused to lie flat. 

While you hadn’t exactly _meant_ to take it, you were curious as to what sort of book the Exarch would read to near-death. A glimpse at the pages within had been enough to make you spirit it away to your rooms for deeper study. 

A taunting chuckle serves as your only warning before the book is snatched out of your hands. You try to take back your stolen prize from Emet-Selch, but the damnable Ascian vanishes through a portal—only to reappear near the open balcony door.

“What’s this, hero? Did you raid the Cabinet for a bedtime story?” he asks, thumbing through the book in the light of the setting sun.

You rush forward in an attempt to pry the book from him before he can glean its genre. His twisted smile stops you in your tracks; his raised hand was merely a formality. Emet-Selch’s eyes narrow as he glances from the book to you. 

“Well, _well_ , hero! I see you passed all the curiosities and went for the debauched section of the Cabinet. Looking for ideas, were you?”

Heat flushes your face at the question. The gloved hand that had stopped you makes its way to your neck, steadying you for the greedy kiss that follows. Emet-Selch breaks the kiss with a teasing smirk; the feel of his breath on your lips sends a shiver down your spine. While the two of you had been meeting in secret for some time now, something in his eyes tells you tonight will be different.

“Lucky for you, I’m open to suggestions,” he purrs. “Shall we?”

His eyes flash from you to your bed. The echo of a snap fills your room. You glance over your shoulder to find the pillows have already arranged themselves in _his_ preferred configuration. 

Book safely tucked under his arm, Emet-Selch guides you over to the bed. He slides in first, propping himself up on the pillows with a satisfied sigh. You wait until he has hiked his skirts up to his thighs, revealing the trousers underneath, to sit between his legs and rest your back against his chest. Emet-Selch’s arms encircle you. The book comes to rest in your lap so both of you can read it. He clears his throat and rests his chin on your shoulder as he finds the first page.

He whispers the words on the first page more to himself than to you. Emet-Selch slips a finger in between the pages to save his place before turning to the front of the book. His thumb glides down the page—the sound _alone_ enough to give you shivers—and stops at a publication date. His limbs tighten around you as he presses his lips to your ear. A chuckle tickles your skin before he whispers. 

“Ah, I see now. Foolish of me to believe you would find a book such as _this_ in the Cabinet of Curiosities. Your dear Exarch would sooner throw himself from the top of the tower than let this fall into a librarian’s hands. Which begs the question: Where _did_ you find it?”

You shift awkwardly in his lap. Emet-Selch sighs, apparently realizing your reluctance to answer. He opens back up to the page he had saved.

“Very well. Let’s see what this is all about, shall we?” he asks and begins to read. 

You relax into him, soothed by the combination of his warmth and the timbre of his voice.

“Titled: The Warrior of Love. A collection of the Warrior of Light’s more salacious adventures. Compiled and edited by Hardened Steel. My, I _do_ hope that’s a pseudonym. Otherwise they likely led a difficult life.”

Your elbow finds its way into the Ascian’s ribs, eliciting a grunt. 

“Alright, alright! No need to get physical just _yet_ ,” he adds, turning the page to the table of contents. “Shall we peruse the titles or go through them one by one? Does anything stand out to you?”

You skim the page. Upon reaching the bottom, you flip over to the next page and read the remaining titles. You return to the first page since one caught your eye. Before you can mention it, Emet-Selch speaks up.

“Allow me to hazard a guess. You would like me to read _Perilous Paragon_ , no?”

When you hesitantly admit to it, the Ascian makes the book float in place and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. He rolls his hips against you. Your breath catches in your throat at what you already feel beneath the layers of fabric. 

“No need to be bashful, dear hero,” he purrs in your ear. “You do, after all, have a perilous Paragon of your own, do you not? Perhaps we can validate some of this fictional account. Although I do wonder with whom the author chose to pair you.”

His hand lifts to idly flick to the left. Pages mirror the action with a flutter until the title of the short story stares back at both of you from the book. Both of his hands return to holding the book. Not knowing what to do with your own hands, you rest your elbows on his knees and try to ignore the feeling of _him_ pressing into your back. The pitch of his voice drops as he begins to read.

“The brave Warrior stood in the burning ruins of Castrum Meridianum. Before them floated their once-trusted friend, possessed by the Paragon named Lahabrea—of _course_ it’s him—who laughed nigh-maniacally as fires raged around them. The immortal believed himself the victor upon witnessing the destruction wrought by the spell harbored within the weapon. The Warrior knew the time had come to stop their dreaded enemy from wreaking any more chaos. Countless deaths bloodied Lahabrea’s hands and the Warrior refused to let him claim one more—even if it meant sacrificing themselves.”

Emet-Selch pauses to glance at the cover of the book. 

“This _is_ the dirty book, right? What is this story doing in here? Don’t tell me they claim you were _intimate_ with Lahabrea, of all people. I’m not even sure the old man knew where it went anymore.”

You glare at him over your shoulder. Understanding your meaning, Emet-Selch returns to the story. 

“Having seen the way the immortal had watched them from the very beginning, the Warrior struck a deal with their sworn enemy. Relinquish hold of their trusted friend and the Paragon could have his way with them.”

The Ascian audibly rolls his eyes, but continues.

“Lahabrea agreed to their condition. Their friend’s body limply fell to the ground. The Warrior rushed forward, fear for their friend casting their heart into their throat, but _tendrils_ made of the very Void grasped the hero and _dragged_ them into the darkness.”

You squirm at the lilt in Emet-Selch’s voice and the way he elongates his words. His lips draw close to your ear as a weight settles into your lap. His words are slow and purposeful. He carries each one carefully and deposits it directly into your ear with crisp consonants and drawn out vowels. You find yourself leaning into him as he continues.

“The Warrior found themselves whisked away to moonlit chambers they had never before seen. Before they could orient themselves, their enemy pressed himself into their back.”

Emet-Selch languidly rolls his hips again; his presence is more easily felt this time. The weight in your lap shifts as your eyes suddenly fall on his hands holding the book. You stare, eyes wide in surprise before lowering your gaze to your lap. You see nothing despite feeling whatever is in your lap move to grab your hips and pull you close once again to the Ascian.

A chuckle from Emet-Selch jostles you against his chest. The book floats once more as his hands make their way to your chest. Nimble fingers toy with the fasteners of your top.

“Fret naught, dearest. ‘Tis only my aether.”

The whisper sends a fresh frisson through you. Tonight _would_ be different.

Pressed flush to your back as he is, you hear Emet-Selch swallow and feel his warm breath against your cheek when he exhales. You peer back to find his eyes skimming down the page just as the aether holding you _twitches_. In an effort to regain his attention, you slide your hands down and squeeze his inner thighs. 

Emet-Selch stifles a moan as his entire body tenses around you. The Ascian inhales with a shudder only to turn your head towards him for a deep kiss that leaves you gasping for air.

“You’re right; how rude of me to read ahead without you,” he whispers, voice thick and eyelids heavy. 

The sight makes your heart race.

He continues, slow and steady; voice rough with whatever emotions he is keeping in check. Each word carries a deliberate bite that unerringly chips away at your resolve. You find yourself idly wondering if the affect on him is because the story deals with you—or because he isn’t the Ascian involved.

“Where was I? Ah… Before they could orient themselves, their enemy pressed himself into their back. Arms trapped the Warrior against the Paragon’s chest. Lahabrea inhaled deeply, the very _scent_ of his enemy enough to bring the immortal to attention. The Warrior gasped at the sensation of the Paragon’s full length. They tried to face their enemy, but a clawed glove at their neck halted the attempt.”

Emet-Selch’s hand wanders up your chest while he reads, coming to a stop at the base of your neck. Silk glides across your collarbone as his thumb moves to rest on one side of your neck while his other lithe fingers curl around the opposite side. The slightest bit of pressure and your hands slide back up his legs to grab onto his knees. You catch a glimpse of the Ascian’s painted lips curling into a smirk. He continues reading.

“Eager to take his prize, the claws on the other hand quickly tore through the belts and buckles of the Warrior’s armor, which fell at their feet with a cacophonous crash. Not yet satisfied with the state of the Warrior, Lahabrea soon shredded through what clothes they wore beneath. What little did not fall prey to his claws was soon engulfed by hungry flames that licked the length of the Warrior’s body. Heat seeped into their very bones as the fire danced over their skin and took root within their belly and loins.”

The sensation of Emet-Selch’s other hand trailing down to your stomach draws you back to reality. His hand comes to rest over your belly button through the thin fabric of your top. It presses down for a moment before it snaps shut into a tight fist. You gasp at the feeling of something within your body rushing to your stomach. It holds there, pooling below the Ascian’s gloved fist while the hand on your neck tightens its grip. The tips of his nails somehow feel sharper than before as they dig into your skin despite his gloves. Your breaths turn shallow and only serve to accentuate the controlled rise and fall of Emet-Selch’s chest below you. His member digging itself into your lower back, however, is unmistakable. 

He takes a shuddering breath before continuing.

“The Warrior gave themselves to the fire consuming them. They reached back and found the Paragon’s neck. Using it as leverage, they arched themselves into Lahabrea, grounding themselves against his chest and groin as levin seemed to course through them. The immortal was only too happy to help. One hand reached down to spread the Warrior’s legs while the other slipped into their entrance drawing a lewd moan from his prize. Despite the finger inside them, they dug their lower half into Lahabrea, frustration mounting at the robe separating them from the Paragon himself.

“Lahabrea noted it with a deep laugh. A second finger joined the first. Heat flooded the Warrior, threatening to reduce them to ash as the Paragon worked their entrance. They gasped and pulled on Lahabrea’s neck, lifting them up. The immortal’s fingers continued their ministrations while his other hand held the Warrior in place as they floated to the bed. The fingers vacated the Warrior, leaving them empty as the Paragon laid his prize on their stomach. Before they could beg for Lahabrea’s touch, a hand pressed into their bared back while the other lifted their hips and separated their legs.”

Emet-Selch’s fist suddenly flies open. His hand flattens against your stomach, pressing your back into his chest as whatever had pooled under his fist suddenly rushes through your body. You _moan_ at the sudden heat invading you, conquering your senses and leaving behind nothing but an insistent _need_ for the Ascian behind you, surrounding you, _consuming_ your every thought with each syllable that comes out of his accursed mouth. 

One of your hands slides back down Emet-Selch’s inner thigh, which twitches under your touch. Your other hand slips under his skirts, trailing the inner seam of his trousers until you find his crotch. You shift against him and roughly rub your palm against the bulge straining the fabric there.

A stifled groan gets caught in Emet-Selch’s throat as he bucks into your touch. Golden claws erupt from his fingertips, shredding his gloves and digging into your clothes as he clings to you. The hand on your neck slides up, lifting your chin to expose your neck to a bite you find sharper than normal. 

“I did not yet give you permission to _touch_ , hero,” he growls into your skin. 

The hand on your stomach dips between your legs. Despite merely cupping you through your trousers, something pours out of his hand and into you, stimulating every sensitive nerve in the area already alit with arousal. You writhe under his touch as the heat within you heightens to a fever. 

Your hand slips out from beneath Emet-Selch’s skirts in favor of pressing the hand between your legs further into you, his mere touch already enough to put you on the edge. Your heels dig into the bed below you, giving you the purchase needed to lift yourself into his touch, eager for _more_ of whatever he was feeding into you. Just as you’re about to tip over the edge, it stops and withdraws into his hand. 

Your eyes widen at the sudden, cool emptiness. Both hands now move to cover his as you thrust yourself into his palm. The hand below your chin shifts, twisting your neck to face him. Glowing, golden eyes study your flushed face below heavy lids as you pant in _need_. The gilt claw of his thumb lightly traces the edge of your jaw and Emet-Selch smiles, baring a set of fangs the sensible part of you knows was not there before along with the claws. In your currently hazy mindset, however, you chalk it up to Ascian tricks and crane your neck towards him in an attempt to kiss his burgundy lips.

He indulges you, meeting you halfway. His tongue eagerly darts into your mouth and tastes every ilm it can before slipping out so Emet-Selch can bite your lower lip. The Ascian resumes the kiss with a teasing smirk—this time slow and _deep_. You groan into his mouth as the sensation from before trickles out of his lips and into you. Moisture gathers within the hand between your legs and you roll your hips into his steady touch. He parts long enough for you to catch your breath and goes in for a third kiss. 

The heat returns with a feverish fury that makes you afraid you’ll set fire to the Ascian by touch alone. He presses on with his kiss. Whatever he’s feeding into your body stimulates you from the inside out, causing you to gasp into his mouth. A hand grabs on to his leg in an attempt to ground yourself in the ever mounting pleasure. You twist in his lap and reach up with your free hand to grip the short, dark hair on the back of his head. Your breaths come hard through your nose as you get so very _close_. 

His lips lift into a smirk moments before he breaks the kiss, once again stopping just short of finishing you. You openly glare at the flushed Ascian in frustration as he leans back on the pillows. His glowing, otherworldly eyes nearly close when he rolls his hips against you, letting you feel his stiffness through his bunched up skirts. Golden claws tear into the mattress as he buries them into it with a low, needy groan. 

**_“Go on,”_ ** he commands in a language you somehow understand.

You don’t need to be told twice; especially when his voice is pitched that low. 

You quickly remove your trousers and smallclothes before lowering Emet-Selch’s to mid-thigh. Your fingers wrap around his hardened length and begin to work his self-lubrication along the shaft. His hips snap up to meet your hand with a deep moan. His lips suddenly twist into a feral grin.

Heat makes its way up your hand from his member before dispersing into the rest of your body. Your breaths turn shallow and your heart races while the heat concentrates in your lower half. Emet-Selch’s glowing eyes focus on you as he _smirks_. He starts pumping himself using your hand. At the same time, the heat within you pulsates to his rhythm, hitting parts of you untouched by anyone else. You stutter his name as he picks up the pace, fearful he may deny you once again. Your grip tightens, but he only makes a lustful sound. 

His hands finally leave the bed to forcefully grab you by the hips and pull you onto his member. With your help, he easily slides in and you gasp at the filling sensation. He remains still, a contented smile on his dark lips as he devours you with his eyes. 

You continue the act. After a moment, his eyes focus on you once again and he does his part. His claws dig into your hips as the two of you move as one. Whatever ancient magic he had poured into you continues its own course, stimulating what his cock does not. A hard pressure between your shoulder blades forces you forward. Emet-Selch meets you with a kiss, redoubling the magic pouring into you while he picks up the pace. You moan his name into his mouth as your vision goes white.

You wake to birds singing outside your window. Your bed is warm, but empty as it always is the morning after your couplings. The pillows and blanket had been rearranged for your own comfort—again, as always. You climb out of bed, a little unsteady at first, but carefully make your way to the table on the other side of the suite where you know a pitcher of water and an assortment of fruits will be waiting for you. 

Beside the customary refreshments, however, sits the book you had stolen from the Crystal Exarch the afternoon before. Your eyes widen at the sight of it and you rush forward before noticing the note sitting on top of it. Curious, you pick it up and turn it over to find the Ascian’s neat writing.

“Made a copy believing it would be handy in future. Have returned the original. 

E-S”

One of your eyebrows involuntarily lifts up at Emet-Selch’s words. A smile winds its way across your face as you hide the book in your belongings before making your way to draw a hot bath.


End file.
